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P   S 

3505 

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1918 

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YC   14625 


IOE 


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POPULAR 
POEMS 

BY 

FRED  A.  CAMPBELL 

"Poet  of  the 
Common  People" 


OAKLAND 
CALIFORNIA 


J 


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POPULAR 
POEMS 

BY 

FRED.  A.  CAMPBELL 


Poet  of  the 
Common  People 


OAKLAND 
CALIFORNIA 


__  _  n 

l»-im  -  f^-ti  -  ,r-».  —  .^j-.  I 


FOREWORD: 

With  some  reluctance  I  have  consented 
to  the  publication  of  this  little  book  contain 
ing  some  of  my  poems,  yet  I  feel  that  they 
breathe  a  pure  and  wholesome  sentiment  that 
I  hope  will  please  and  benefit  the  reader. 
They  were  written  more  for  my  own  amuse 
ment  than  with  any  thought  of  publication, 
but  if  they  amuse  and  interest  others  I  shall 
be  pleased. 

I  have  been  designated  by  friends  as 
'THE  POET  OF  THE  COMMON  PEOPLE," 
and  I  do  not  object  to  the  title.  Those  who 
are  known  as  the  common  people  I  consider 
to  be  the  best  people.  They  are  home-lov 
ing,  kind,  gentle  and  true.  I  am  proud  to 
be  one  of  them,  and  lovingly  send  forth  my 
best  thoughts  herewith  to  the  reader. 

FRED  A.  CAMPBELL. 


C  i  *  i  (. 


M/wJ 


FRED    A.    CAMPBELL 


377924 


We  Can  Only  Have 
One  Mother 

We  can  only  have one  rtiojheiv [\  '•.  • 

Patient,  kind  and  true, 

No  other  friend  in  all  this  world 

Will  be  so  true  to  you ; 

For  all  her  loving  kindness 

She  asks  nothing  in  return ; 

If  all  the  world  desert  you, 

To  mother  you  can  turn. 

Many  tears  you've  caused  her 
When  you  were  sad  or  ill, 
Maybe  many  sleepless  nights, 
Tho'  grown,  you  cause  her  still. 
So  every  time  you  leave  her, 
Or  when  e'er  you  come  or  go 
Give  her  a  kind  word  and  a  kiss, 

'Tis  what  she  craves  I  know. 

«jf^ 

W 

We  can  only  have  one  mother, 
None  else  can  take  her  place ; 
You  can't  tell  how  you'll  need  her, 
Till  you  miss  her  loving  face. 
Be  careful  how  you  answer  her, 
Choose  every  word  you  say, 
Remember  she's  your  mother, 
Tho'  now  she's  old  and  gray. 

We  can  only  have  one  mother, 
O,  take  her  to  your  heart ; 
You  cannot  tell  how  soon  the  time 
When  you  and  she  must  part. 
Let  her  know  you  love  her  dearly 
Cheer  and  comfort  her  each  day, 
You  can  never  get  another, 
when  she  has  passed  away. 


The  Old  Ranch  Gate 

I  iit,  when  my  day's  work  is  over, 

Tiied  out  with  its  bustle  and  din; 
And  I  lean  back  tired  and  weary. 

Then  I  feel  my  eyes  grow  dim 
As  I  see  in  my  thoughts  a  picture 

Of  a  cot  in  a  far-off  state, 
A  barefoot  boy  in  the  old  green  lane 

And  a  girl  by  the  old  Ranch  Gate. 

9 

I  can  see  an  old  thatched  cottage, 
'Way  back  against  the  hill; 

And  the  scenes  that  pass  before  me 
Give  my  heart  a  loving  thrill; 

But  the  one  I  love  to  picture, 
Is  that  of  my  Sweetheart,  Kate, 

She  was  always  there  to  meet  me, 

By  the  side  of  the  old  Ranch  Gate. 

i.  ^^ 

II 

Oh  the  dear  old  days  of  my  boyhood, 

That  I  see  again  in  my  dream. 
When  I  ran  contented  and  happy 

And  paddled  barefoot  in  the  stream 
With  sweet  little  Kate  there  beside  me 

No  king  was  as  proud  or  great, 
As  we  sat  side  by  side  in  the  evening 

And  swung  on  the  old  Ranch  Gate. 


Now  the  tears  will  start  while  dreaming 

As  the  pictures  are  thrown  on  the  screen, 
And  in  fancy  I  see  the  dear  faces 

And  each  loved  and  familiar  scene ; 
Though  now  I  have  money  and  treasures, 

Have  been  treated  most  kindly  by  fate, 
I'd  give  wealth,  fame  and  honors 

For  those  days  by  the  old  Ranch  Gate. 


Dear  Kate  is  my  wife  here  beside  me. 

Her  hair  once  golden  is  gray 
Now  she  dresses  in  silks  and  satins, 

And  her  jewels  are  sparkling  and  gay, 
But  in  fancy  I  see  her  standing 

At  the  tryst  where  she  used  to  wait. 
There's  where  I  learned  to  love  her 

As  we  swung  on  the  old  Ranch  Gate. 
&y, 

ly? 
Now  those  times  are  passed  forever. 

Yet  still  my  heart  does  yearn 
For  those  happy  days  of  childhood 

Which  I  know  can  ne'er  return. 
But  I  long  for  the  dear  old  homestead. 

In  my  native  Golden  State, 
Where  Kate  and  I  together  swung 

And  loved  on  the  old  Ranch  Gate. 


Somebody's  Sister 


In  the  Morgue  a  form  is  lying 
Of  a  maiden  young  and  fair; 
With  teeth  as  white  as  pearls 
And  black  as  night  her  hair ; 
No  mother  mourns  beside  her — 
None  there  to  shed  a  tear — 
No  friend  to  say  "I  loved  her  well/* 
No  brother  or  sister  near. 

Yet  she  had  a  father,  a  mother. 
And  friends  who  loved  her  true. 
When  as  a  child  in  the  country 
Sweet  as  the  flowers  she  grew; 
She  was  the  pride  of  that  mother 
The  joy  of  that  dear  father's  life; 
Now  she  lies  dead  and  deserted  here 
Neither  a  maid  nor  a  wife. 


But  why  repeat  the  old  story — 
'Tis  told  to  us  over  each  day, 
How  a  tempter  came  and  stole  her 
From  home  and  loved  ones  away ; 
How  like  a  woman  she  loved  him 
And  how  for  her  love  she  fell — 
How  like  a  demon  he  dragged  her  down 
Dragged  her  from  Heaven  to  Hell. 


Now  on  the  cold  slab  she's  lying 
With  none  of  her  loved  ones  there — 
No  one  to  smooth  those  dark  tresses 
And  no  one  to  murmur  a  prayer. 
No  marble  will  tell  where  she's  resting, — 
A  rough  board  lettered  "Unknown" — 
Will  mark  the  spot  in  the  "Potter's  Field" 
The  place  where  her  dust  is  sown. 


And  the  man  who  caused  the  ruin, 
May  be  honored  by  high  and  by  low — 
Knows  not,  cares  not,  for  the  sorrow 
The  heart-aches,  the  tears  and  the  woe 
That  blighted  the  poor  little  creature 
Lying  dead  and  cold  on  the  stone; 
Fain  would  I  know  how  'twill  be  over  there 
When  they  meet  at  the  great  white  throne. 

II 

We  must  hear  the  tales  of  the  street 

Where  women  struggle  and  die 

'Tho  the  stories  be  old  as  the  hills 

As  varied  as  the  clouds  in  the  sky. 

But  is  there  no  cry  for  a  warning 

As  the  world-old  story  they  tell 

How  an  angel  strayed  from  the  path  one  day 

And  fell  from  Heaven  to  Hell? 

II 
L'ENVOI 

There's  a  moral  to  this  story 
It  is  old  but  it  is  true ; 
You  should  always  do  to  others 
As  you'd  have  them  do  to  you. 
So  ponder  well  the  picture 
This  simple  tale  has  shown 
Remember  you've  a  mother 
And  a  sister  of  your  own. 


The  Damphool  Club 


Have  you  heard  of  our  society? 
Now  what  I  say  is  true — 
It's  getting  mighty  popular 
And  growing  daily,  too. 
You  may  know  all  about  it, 
But  on  the  strict  Q.  T. 
I  will  tell  you  of  some  members 
In  our  great  fraternity. 

••  m 

Did  you  ever  see  an  idiot 

At  a  seashore  rock  a  boat, 

To  show  the  girls  how  bold  he  was — 

Just  the  cutest  thing  afloat? 

After  he'd  upset  the  thing 

And  drowned  two  or  three  — 

We  elected  him  a  member 

Of  the  Damphool  Club,  you  see. 

y*b 

IP 

And  there's  that  other  fellow, 
With  the  blamed  old  empty  gun, 
Who  points  it  at  his  dearest  friend 
And  laughs  to  see  the  fun. 
He  "didn't  know  'twas  loaded" 
But  his  friend  died  just  the  same ; 
Now  on  the  Damphool's  roster 
You'll  be  sure  to  find  his  name. 

There's  the  man  who  plays  the  ponies 
Reads  the  dope  sheet  every  day — 
Then  he  steals  the  boss's  money 
On  the  "sure  thing"  horse  to  play; 
Now  he's  working  for  the  county 
Gets  free  lodgings  and  his  grub — 
You  can  bet  that  he's  a  member 
Of  the  Damphool  Club. 


Now  the  fellow  with  a  contract 
To  put  the  breweries  on  the  bum: 
He  attends  to  business  strictly 
And  he  thinks  it  lots  of  fun ; 
But  his  wife  and  little  kiddies — 
Ah!    there,  my  boy's  the  rub — 
Now  he  holds  the  highest  office 
In  the  Damphool  Club. 

J£^t 

If 

If  you  want  to  be  a  member 
I'll  tell  you  what  to  do, 
Be  a  "winner"  with  the  ladies 
And  go  the  limit,  too. 
Dally  with  the  "booze,"  my  boy, 
Be  a  "spender,"  never  "chub," 
Then  you'll  be  a  star  performer 
In  the  Damphool  Club. 


The  Man  I'll  Try  to  Be 

I'll  try  to  lead  a  cleanly  life 

And  set  my  standard  high, 
Try  to  do  some  kindly  act 

As  each  day  passes  by; 
I'll  strive  to  aid  some  toiling  one, 

Help  smooth  out  their  rough  places; 
Try  to  make  a  smile  appear 

On  care-worn,  mournful  faces. 


Other's  faults  I  see  each  day, 
I'll  try  hard  to  forget  them; 

To  bear  my  crosses  as  I  should 

Though  hard  my  tasks  to  do  them. 

If  my  life's  path  be  steep  and  rough 
And  pleasures  hard  in  earning, 

I'll  try  to  do  the  best  I  can — 

Not  always  be  complaining. 

&•$. 

II 

I'll  try  to  build  my  character 

Upon  an  upright  plan, 
To  look  the  whole  world  in  the  face 

And  be  an  honest  man. 
I  may  not  reach  the  goal  I  seek, 

Win  praises,  wealth,  or  fame, 
I'll  try  to  play  as  best  I  may 

A  decent,  manly  game. 


A  California  Christmas 

Bells  of  Christinas  now  are  ringing 

Ringing  out  their  joyous  lay; 
For  the  land  is  filled  with  gladness 

On  this  happy  Christmas  day. 
And  our  voices  rise  in  singing 

Songs  of  gladness  and  of  praise, 
Giving  thanks  for  all  life's  blessings 

That  are  scattered  on  earth's  ways. 

9 

While   the   Christmas   bells    are   ringing 

Out  glad  tidings  of  good  cheer, 
Let  us  not  forget  the  many 

In  their  cities  cold  and  drear. 
Where  the  snow  and  wind  and  blizzard 

Howl  around  each  Christmas  day. 
And  the  deadly  wild  tornado 

Blows  disaster  and  dismay. 


Here  you'll  find  the  poppies  blooming 

Smell  the  roses'  sweet  perfume; 
And  the  sun  so  brightly  shining 

Drives  away  all  clouds  and  gloom. 
Here  the  birds  are  sweetly  singing 

On  this  Christmas  day  so  grand; 
Singing  thanks  to  God  who  made  them 

For  he  gave  them  his  own  land. 

<t£ty 

W 

So  come  out  and  spend  a  Christmas 

'Neath  an  azure  sky  of  blue. 
Where  the  violets  breathe  sweet  incense 

And  the  poppies  kiss  the  dew, 
While  the  meadow  lark  is  singing 

Sweetly  singing  to  his  mate, 
Come  and  sing  your  Christmas  carols 

In  our  Glorious  Golden  State. 


What's  It  All  About? 

Life's  a  funny  proposition, 

Have  you  ever  thought  it  out? 

Why  did  we  come?    Why  are  we  here? 

And  what's  it  all  about? 

Life's  a  funny  proposition 

Don't  it  seem  the  same  to  you? 

All  the  hard,  luck  comes  to  many, 

All  the  good  luck  to  a  few. 

To  the  few  why — all  is  sunshine, 
And  the  dark  clouds  never  show, 
Just  the  pretty  silver  lining 
About  the  clouds  is  all  they  know. 
While  the  many  strive  and  struggle, 
Toil  right  on  unto  the  last, 
The  right  to  work,  the  right  to  die, 
Then  this  funny  life  is  passed. 


To  some  is  given  all  the  brains, 

And  to  others  all  the  money, 

There's  few  who  seem  to  have  them  both, 

That's  why  this  life  seems  funny. 

The  ones  who  do  the  planning 

And  work  the  great  schemes  out, 

Are  the  ones  who  do  the  starving, 

And  the  ones  least  talked  about. 


Life's  a  funny  proposition,       ,; 

A  hard  and  wicked  game, 

Still  there's  mighty  few  among  us, 

But  hang  on  just  the  same. 

And  the  ones  who  do  the  harping 

About  the  mansions  in  the  sky, 

Are  the  ones  who  yell  the  loudest 

When  they  have  to  say  good-bye. 


Hustle! 


Don't  stand  around  a- wishing 
That  things  will  come  to  you; 
Just  get  right  in  and  hustle, 
There's  a  lot  for  you  to  do. 
There's  only  one  man  ever  lived 
Whom  the  ravens  fed  with  bread, 
And  that  old  duffer,  on  my  word, 
Has  been  a  long  time  dead. 

If 

So  get  right  in  and  hustle, 
Don't  stand  around  and  moan; 
You  never  saw  the  crops  grow 
Where  the  seed  has  not  been  sown 
If  you  lie  beneath  the  apple  tree, 
Your  mouth  open  to  the  chin, 
Don't  expect  the  other  fellow 
Will  drop  the  juicy  apple  in. 

Whatever  is  worth  having, 
You've  got  to  hustle  for; 
If  you  have  a  little  money, 
You  should  hustle  to  get  more. 
If  you  want  to  win  a  lady 
Don't  lie  around  and  sigh; 
Just  get  a  hustle  on  you, 
You'll  catch  them  on  the  fly. 

My  boy,  you've  got  to  hustle 
From  the  cradle  to  the  grave; 
The  battle  is  an  easy  one 
If  you'll  hustle  and  be  brave; 
But  if  you're  tired  and  lazy 
The  world  will  pass  you  by; 
You'd  better  find  a  nice  soft  spot 
And  lay  you  down  and  die. 


I  Did  My  Best 


Suppose  the  clouds  are  heavy, 

And  the  sky  is  wet  with  rain ; 
Suppose  your  heart  is  aching 

And  your  body  racked  with  pain, 
Don't  you  know  the  glorious  sunshine 

Will  soon  dispel  the  rain? 
Don't  you  know  that  smiling  faces 

Often  cure  the  greatest  pain? 

mi 
II 

So  what's  the  use  to  grumble 

When  days  are  dark  and  drear; 
Or  what's  the  use  to  worry     • 

And  what's  the  use  to  fear; 
The  sun  is  bound  to  shine  again 

And  pleasure  follows  pain. 
So  do  not  be  discouraged 

Get  up  and  fight  again. 

X-3, 

y 

If  perchance  you  meet  a  brother 

Who  is  wrecked  upon  life's  strand, 
Can't  you  say  a  kindly  word  to  him 

And  take  him  by  the  hand? 
It  doesn't  cost  a  cent  to  say 

A  kind  and  cheerful  word; 
It  may  be  the  sweetest  music 

The  poor  devil  ever  heard. 

II 

Just  scatter  rays  of  sunshine 

As  through  this  life  you  go; 
Do  the  very  best  you  can, 

You  can't  do  more,  you  know. 
Speak  a  kind  word  now  and  then. 

Save  some  weak  one  from  a  fall, 
And  when  you  go  to  judgment 

Say:     I  did  my  best,  that's  all. 


Looking  Backward 

Are  you  looking  back,  dear  brother 
At  things  now  past  and  gone? 
Are  you  anchored  to  the  past 
When  everything  went  wrong? 
Or  are  you  marching  onward, 
With  steady  step  and  true, 
And  looking  on  with  pleasure 
To  what  you  have  to  do? 


What's  the  use  of  worrying 
Of  times  now  passed  away — 
It  ought  to  keep  you  busy 
Thinking  how  to  live  today; 
The  fellow  that's  the  live  one 
Lets  all  his  troubles  pass; 
The  one  that's  always  dreaming 
Is  a  silly  sort  of  ass. 

fl 

Mistakes  are  bound  to  happen; 
When  they  do,  just  let  them  go, 
There's  no  use  to  remember 
What  happened  long  ago. 
"Today"  is  what  to  think  about — 
And  tomorrow  is  not  far — 
It  makes  no  difference  what  you  were, 
But  only  what  you  are. 

Jflfe 
II 

In  every  life  there  is  a  page 
That  never  should  be  read — 
So  what's  the  use  to  read  about 
The  things  that's  passed  and  dead? 
Now's  the  time  to  hustle — 
You  want  to  live  today; 
We  need  hold  no  post-mortem 
On  mistakes  that've  paved  our  way. 


The  Old  West  Is  Passing 

The  grand  old  West  is  passing, 
And  the  old  time  boys  are  gone, 
But  they  left  behind  a  heritage 
Of  history  and  of  song, 
And  their  sons  who  follow  after 
Forget  them  they  can  never, 
For  the  spirit  of  the  great  old  West 
Shall  live  and  live  forever. 


They  loved  the  laws  that  God  laid  down, 

Deny  this  no  one  can, 

Love,  loyalty  and  chivalry 

Became  the  laws  of  man. 

They  blazed  the  way  along  the  front, 

Tho'  rough  the  road  and  hard, 

Where  every  man  was  brother, 

And  every  friend  was  "Pard." 

.  ".    & } 

Love  was  their  only  slogan, 
Loyalty  was  their  aim, 
Benevolence  their  motto, 
That's  how  they  played  the  game. 
The  open  world  they  lived  in, 
Those  men  so  brave  and  true, 
Oh,  what  a  lesson  they  have  left 
To  men  like  me  and  you. 

II 

So  let  us  take  the  lesson, 
Enshrine  it  in  each  heart, 
And  let  us  all  resolve  to  play 
A  decent,  manly  part. 
AJthough  the  fight  may  weary, 
And  the  road  be  rough  and  hard, 
Make  every  man  your  brother, 
And  every  friend  your  Pard. 


'Hold  Your  Tongue" 

Could  we  look  beneath  the  surface 
And  see  what's  written  there, 
We'd  put  a  bridle  on  our  tongue 
And  speak  with  greater  care. 
For  a  word  though  lightly  uttered 
May  cause  much  grief  and  pain, 
And  like  the  arrow  that  is  sped 
Will  not  come  back  again. 

A  word  like  the  bite  of  an  adder, 
May  smart  with  a  venomous  sting, 
Even  the  word  that  is  said  in  jest 
Many  bitter  tears  may  bring; 
And  the  evil  we  say  of  others 
The  damage  we  never  can  know, 
May  bring  to  the  soul  that's  pure  as  gold 
Dishonor,  disgrace  and  woe. 

II 

So  speak  kindly,  speak  no  evil, 
From  each  word  remove  the  sting; 
May  your  ears  hear  only  gladness 
Not  the  songs  the  gossips  sing. 
For  should  you  repeat  the  story — 
'Tis  no  telling  where  'twill  fall — 
Maybe  the  one  that's  talked  about 
Is  the  best  one  after  all. 

II 

Why  should  we  draw  the  bitter  tear, 
With  whispers  soft  and  low? 
When  we  start  to  judging  others 
We  should  travel  very  slow. 
The  wind  is  surely  bound  to  veer, 
Then  our  turn  will  come,  you  know; 
And  the  mean  words  said  of  others 
May  smite  us — blow  for  blow. 


Where  the  Golden 
Poppies  Grow 

As  in  distant  lands  I  wander 

Far  from  those  to  me  so  dear, 

I  sit  and  sadly  ponder 

Life  to  me  seems  sad  and  drear, 

As  the  pictures  come  before  me 

And  my  thoughts  will  come  and  go, 

I  long  for  California, 

Where  the  Golden  Poppies  Grow. 


'Tis  no  matter  where  I  travel, 
Or  where  I  chance  to  go, 
To  me  there's  but  one  country 
Where  the  Golden  Poppies  Grow. 
God  planted  them  and  blessed  them 
With  his  sunshine's  gentle  glow, 
And  the  zephyrs  always  sing  there 
Where  the  Golden  Poppies  Grow. 

II 
There  are  many  other  countries, 

God  made  them  all  I  know, 
But  in  dear  old  California 
He  made  Golden  Poppies  grow. 
The  good  Lord  must  have  loved  us 
And  loved  us  well,  you  know, 
For  he  gave  us  his  own  country 
Where  the  Golden  Poppies  Grow. 

_f 

On  the  hills  of  California 
And  in  her  valleys  low, 
Where  the  sun  is  always  shining 
And  the  gentle  breezes  blow, 
Where  the  birds  are  always  singing, 
Where  her  pretty  rivers  flow — 
My  own  dear  California 
Where  the  Golden  Poppies  Grow. 


How  Played  You  the  Game? 

You  will  find,  I  am  sure, 
As  the  world  onward  goes, 
That  Fate  always  pays 
All  the  debts  that  she  owes. 
If  you  play  the  game  fair, 
You  will  find  in  your  need 
That  the  straight,  honest  course 
Is  no  barren  creed. 

II 

If  you  have  neither  money, 
Nor  glory,  nor  fame, 
When  you  see  others  prosper 
With  each  crooked  game; 
When  you  feel  sorely  tempted 
To  try  the  same  way — 
Just  pause  for  a  moment 
And  ask — does  it  pay? 

The  world  may  look  on 
While  you  win  wealth  and  fame, 
Nor  ask  how  you  won  it — 
Through  honor  or  shame. 
But  the  time's  bound  to  come 
When  you  must  stand  alone 
And  you,  and  you  only, 
For  each  sin  must  atone. 

& 

And  whether  you're  sleeping 
Or  when  you're  awake 
Your  conscience  is  with  you, 
And  that's  no  mistake. 
While  your  money  and  name 
May  be  cheered  by  the  crowd — 
There  ne'er  was  a  pocket 
Sewed  into  a  shroud. 
|| 

Whatsoever  yoir  sow 
You  also  shall  reap; 
And  the  time  is  not  far 
From  the  long  last  sleep. 
To  the  poor  or  the  rich 
It  comes  just  the  same, 
And  then  the  great  question — 
"How  Played  You  the  Game?" 


Lonesome 


I  am  out  in  California 
Where  the  gentle  zephyrs  blow, 
Where  the  pretty  golden  poppies 
And  the  bright  poinsettias  grow. 
Every  pathway's  strewn  with  flowers 
And  with  orange  blossoms  too. 
Still  I'm  lonesome,  yes,  lonely — 
Longing  for  my  home  and  you. 

Here  the  sun  is  always  shining 
And  the  climate  mild  and  rare, 
And  the  sound  of  pretty  song  birds 
Floats  upon  the  perfumed  air. 
People  here,  like  happy  children, 
Fill  the  land  with  life  and  mirth, 
Truly,  beauteous  California 
Is  the  grandest  spot  on  earth. 

II 

You  would  think  I  should  be  happy 
Mid  environment  so  rare, 
But  I'm  longing  for  my  home  town 
And  I'm  wishing  to  be  there. 
Friends  have  given  royal  welcome, 
Shown  me  sights  my  heart  to  bind, 
Still  I'm  lonesome,  and  I'm  longing 
For  the  dear  one  left  behind. 

Soon  I'll  leave  for  my  old  homestead 
Although  humble  it  may  be, 
Back  to  home  and  the  old  home  town 
And  to  one  who  waits  for  me. 
For  I'm  lonesome,  oh  so  lonesome, 
In  a  land  that's  wondrous  fair. 
After  all  home's  where  the  heart  is, 
And  the  one  you  love  is  there. 


What's  the  Use? 

What's  the  use  to  worry, 

You've  not  got  long  to  stay 
Why  not  take  things  easy 

As  you  pass  along  life's  way? 
'Twill  do  no  good  to  worry 

If  things  are  going  wrong; 
You  may  as  well  be  pleasant — 

Meet  reverses  with  a  song. 


What's  the  use  to  criticise, 

What's  the  use  to  knock; 
What's  the  use  to  ridicule, 

Or  at  some  to  throw  a  rock  ? 
Don't  appoint  yourself  a  censor, 

No  matter  what  you  do, 
This  great  big  world  was  never  made 

For  just  a  chosen  few. 

II        :.:  :. 

There's  none  of  us  that's  perfect, 

There's  few  of  us  that  stay 
And  never  stray  or  wander, 

From  the  straight  and  narrow  way, 
So  when  you  start  to  hammer 

Some  poor  fool  who's  gone  astray, 
'Twill  do  no  harm  to  pause  and  think 

You  may  lose  your  grip  some  day. 

What's  the  use  to  kick  one 

Who's  just  about  to  fall? 
If  you  do  not  care  to  help  him, 

Don't  mention  him  at  all. 
You'll  find  if  you  take  notice, 

That  what  I  say  is  true; 
While  there  may  be  faults  in  others, 

There's  a  flaw  or  two  in  you. 


Forget  It! 

Forget  it,  my  dear  boy,  forget  it, 

That's  the  very  best  thing  you  can  do ; 
It  will  do  you  no  good  to  remember 

All  the  mean  things  that's  said  about  you. 
This  life  is  too  short  to  get  even 

For  every  mean  act  that  you  know, 
So  forget  it,  my  dear  boy,  forget  it, 

Forget,  and  just  let  it  go. 

Forget  it,  my  dear  boy,  forget  it, 

For  you  see  every  knock  is  a  lie ; 
Be  decent  and  never  repeat  it, 

Just  forget  it  and  let  it  pass  by; 
You  may  think  that  the  story  is  funny, 

But  to  tell  it  you've  nothing  to  gain, 
So  if  it's  a  knock,  just  forget  it, 

And  never  repeat  it  again. 

II 

Forget  it,  my  dear  boy,  forget  it, 
For  knocking's  a  mighty  poor  game, 

It  never  made  one  fellow  happy, 
But  causes  much  sorrow  and  pain. 

When  you  chance  to  hear  some  fellow  knocking, 
If  he's  knocking  a  friend  or  a  foe, 

I  want  to  impress  this  upon  you, 

Forget  it,  and  just  let  it  go. 
&•$, 
If 
Some  say  that  a  knock  is  a  boost,  boy, 

Forget  it,  for  that  is  not  so ; 
A  boost  is  a  boost,  and  a  knock  is  a  knock, 

It's  the  same  thing  wherever  you  go. 
So  when  you  hear  somebody  knocking, 

Let  them  know  their  knock  is  in  vain, 
For  as  soon  as  you  hear  it,  forget  it, 

And  never  repeat  it  again. 

Aty, 

ft 

Many  good  men  have  been  ruined, 

And  many  good,  pure  women,  too, 
By  some  knocker  starting  a  rumor 

And  not  a  word  of  it  true. 
So  if  you  hear  some  fellow  knocking 

A  man  or  a  woman's  good  name, 
You  can  bet  it's  a  lie,  so  forget  it. 

And  never  repeat  it  again. 


Who's  the  Failure? 

Can  you  call  a  man  a  failure, 
Who  just  does  the  best  he  can, 
Who  meets  his  battles  daily, 
And  fights  them  like  a  man? 
Tho  hard  the  grind  and  weary, 
Ke  keeps  busy  all  the  while, 
If  his  heart  is  bowed  in  sorrow, 
Tries  his  level  best  to  smile. 


Can  you  call  a  man  a  failure, 
Who  is  thankful  for  the  health 
That  keeps  his  mind  so  busy, 
He  can  never  think  of  self? 
No  matter  what  the  day  may  bring, 
It  is  all  the  same  to  him, 
He  will  tackle  it  with  courage, 
And  a  strong  determined  grin. 

Can  you  call  a  man  a  failure, 
Who  will  plod  along  each  day, 
And  never  keep  complaining 
About  the  rough  and  rocky  way? 
Just  the  thought  of  home  and  babies, 
Will  smooth  his  roughest  road, 
And  the  smiles  that  greet  his  coming, 
Lightens  up  his  heaviest  load. 

II 

Or  the  man  who  sees  but  money, 
As  his  days  may  come  and  go, 
Demands  his  every  "Pound  of  flesh," 
By  methods  mean  and  low, 
He  is  sure  to  get  the  money 
And  will  always  pile  up  wealth 
Now,  is  it  success  or  failure, 
This  great  pile  of  unclean  pelf? 

|| 

Now,  1  leave  with  you  the  question, 
You  may  answer  for  yourself, 
Is  ever}'  man  a  failure, 
If  he  doesn't  have  the  pelf? 
Or  a  lot  of  just  the  money, 
All  in  life  one  has  to  show, 
Which  is  success  or  failure? 
That's  the  question  I  would  know? 


"Daddy,  Dear  Daddy" 

I  have  a  true  and  faithful  friend, 

Daddy,  dear  daddy ; 
No  better  gift  could  heaven  send, 

Daddy,  dear  daddy; 
He  plods  along  and  plugs  each  day 
To  get  the  coin  my  bills  to  pay 
And  never  has  a  word  to  say — 

Daddy,  dear  daddy. 

II 

He  digs  along  from  year  to  year, 

Daddy,  dear  daddy ; 
He  loves  to  work  for  those  so  dear, 

Daddy,  dear  daddy. 
And  so  he  goes  from  day  to  day, 
In  an  uncomplaining  way, 
And  every  month  brings  home  his  pay, 

Daddy,  dear  daddy. 

The  poets  never  write  or  sing 

Daddy,  dear  daddy; 
They  never  say  a  pleasant  thing, 

Daddy,  dear  dadd}'; 
But  still  he  bends  beneath  the  load, 
When  deep  and  muddy  is  the  road, 
If  tired  and  worn,  his  love's  the  goad, 

Daddy,  dear  dadcly. 


He  cares  not  for  a  hero's  name. 

Daddy,  dear  daddy; 
Or  craves  not  for  the  poet's  fame, 

Daddy,  dear  daddy; 
Fie  works  for  home  and  loved  ones  dear; 
What  if  the  path  be  cold  and  drear 
The  smile  of  wife  and  babe  brings  cheer, 

Daddy,  dear  daddy. 

m 

And  so  he  does  the  best  he  can, 

Daddy,  dear  daddy; 
He  bears  his  burden  like  a  man, 

Daddy,  dear  dadcly; 
What  if  he's  poor,  or  old,  or  slow — 
No  matter  where  you  chance  to  go, 
A  better  friend  you'll  never  know — 

Daddy,  dear  daddy. 


Women 

Ever  since  the  time  of  Adam, 

When  that  duffer  got  his  fame, 
We've  been  always  knocking  women 

For  our  wrongs  she  gets  the  blame. 
She's  the  one  that  causes  trouble, 

What  a  great  place  this  would  be 
If  this  world  was  for  men  only 

And  from  women  we'd  be  free ! 

Every  time  that  men  get  loaded, 

'Twas  some  woman  made  them  so, 
With  their  nagging  and  their  scolding 

Off  on  a  drunk  they  made  us  go. 
If  we  steal,  'twas  they  that  made  us — 

To  get  clothes  for  them  to  wear. 
Really  it  is  something  awful, 

All  the  ills  men  have  to  bear ! 

And  the  preacher  in  the  pulpit, 

He  must  knock  the  women  too ! 
How  they  smoke  and  drink  and  gamble, 

At  their  clubs  what  things  they  do; 
They  neglect  their  homes  and  children — 

Run  around  both  day  and  night ; 
Just  think  how  the  poor  men  suffer, 

On  my  word  it  is  a  fright ! 

Let  me  tell  you,  my  dear  brother. 

Even  if  these  things  were  true, 
Yet  a  woman  is  a  bad  one 

If  she's  not  as  good  as  you; 
Show  me  where  there  is  a  woman 

Who  perchance  has  gone  astray 
And  I'll  show  you  close  beside  her 

Some  fool  man  who  led  the  way ! 

If  she  smokes  'twas  you  who  taught  her — 

If  she  drinks  you  showed  her  how — 
If  she  is  as  you  have  made  her, 

Is  it  right  to  knock  her  now? 
God  made  man  and  God  made  woman 

Both  upon  a  different  plan — 
There  never  was  a  real  bad  woman 

That  was  not  made  so  by  a  man. 


Don't  Be  a  Quitter 

"God  Almighty  hates  a  quitter/* 
That's  a  saying,  old  but  true ; 
So  do  not  be  a  quitter, 
No  matter  what  you  do. 
It's  the  coward  who's  a  quitter, 
When  times  are  hard  and  slow; 
The  one  who  don't  know  how  to  quit 
Is  the  one  who  makes  things  go. 

Had  Columbus  been  a  quitter, 
When  he  sailed  across  the  sea, 
We  might  have  had  no  country 
Like  our  glorious  land  so  free ! 
If  Washington  had  quit  us 
When  things  looked  mighty  blue, 
What  really  would  have  happened 

To  folks  like  me  and  you? 

y$ 
|f 

Napoleon  crossed  the  rugged  Alps 
And  he  conquered  Italy ; 
He  never  could  have  done  so 
If  he  had  quit,  you  see ; 
And  Grant  won  many  battles, 
When  they  said  he  had  no  show; 
These  men  were  never  known  to  quit 
They  made  history  you  know. 

IE* 

<?,,x> 
~& 

So  do  not  be  a  quitter 
When  misfortunes  on  you  frown, 
For  the  man  who's  not  a  quitter 
Hard  luck  can  not  keep  down. 
It's  when  you  see  that  others 
Are  discouraged,  tired  and  sore, 
That  you  should  be  the  last  to  quit — 
Stand  up  and  fight  the  more. 

.® 

The  man  who  wins  the  battle 
Is  the  one  who's  there  to  stay ; 
He  doesn't  mind  the  hard  knocks 
On  the  rough  and  rocky  way — 
He  knows  that  every  victory 
Is  won  by  good,  hard  work ; 
The  one  who  wins  his  spurs,  my  boy, 
Doesn't  know  how  to  quit  or  shirk ! 


Discontent 

As  I  walked  through  the  garden  one  summer  day, 

I  saw  a  sweet  rosebush  and  to  it  did  say: 

"Good   morning,    sweet   rosebush,    and   how   do   you   do) 

You  look  very  charming  with  your  jewels  of  dew." 

But  the  rosebush  blushed  and  hung  down  its  head 

And  said  as  it  sighed:  "I  wish  I  were  dead, 

For  only  a  very  small  rosebush  am  I — 

I  would  be  an  oak  tree  so  stately  and  high." 


"Tut,  tut,  little  rosebush,  you're  young  and  fair; 

You  bear  lovely  roses  so  fragrant  and  rare ; 

The  scent  of  your  flowers  fills  the  air  with  perfume, 

And  the  birds  and  the  bees  love  you  as  you  bloom ; 

'Tis  true  you  are  small  and  have  thorns  beside, 

But  remember  your  blossoms  deck  many  a  bride, 

So  stick  to  your  station,  be  loyal  and  true, 

Try  to  be  the  best  rosebush  the  world  ever  knew." 


"Good  morning,  great  oak  tree,  and  how  do  you  do?" 

"Thank  you,  kind  sir,   to  be  candid  and  true, 

I  have  the  blues  badly — I'm  sick  through  and  through, 

Here  I  am  growing,  big,  thick  and  tall, 

But  strong  as  I  am,  I'm  no  good  at  all ; 

Just  look  at  that  rosebush,  so  graceful  and  fair. 

Oh,  how  I  envy  her  blossoms  so  rare, 

And  her  fragrance  which  fills  the  still,  balmy  air." 


"Oh,  oak  tree !  oak  tree !  so  grand  and  tall 

How  can  you  say  you're  no  use  at  all? 

Don't  the  dear  little  birds  light  on  you  and  sing, 

And  their  sweet  silvery  notes  make  the  whole  valley  ring? 

In  the  shade  that  you  make  the  slick  cattle  browse — 

The  wind  makes  sweet  music  as  it  sighs  through  your  boughs ; 

So  just  keep  on  growing  tall,  big  and  round — 

Try  to  be  the  best  oak  tree  that  grows  in  the  ground. 


"Good  morning,  little  violet,  so  modest  and  blue — 

Won't  you  please  tell  me  kindly  how  goes  it  with  you?" 

And  the  violet  replied  with  a  smile  on  its  face: 

"I  get  along  nicely  in  my  humble  place. 

I  try  to  grow  tall,  as  tall  as  the  grass, 

To  watch  the  dear  children  and  nod  as  they  pass; 

And  I'll  do  my  best  the  short  time  I  am  here 

To  fill  some  sad  heart  full  of  comfort  and  cheer.** 


The  Boys  Who 
Wore  the  Gray 

DEDICATED  TO  THE  CONFEDERATE  VETERANS 

Round  the  dear  old  flag  of  battle 

Let  us  gather  once  again, 
And  retell  those  old,  old  stories; 

Half  in  pleasure,  half  in  pain. 
Tho'  we  miss  the  many  faces 

That  have  long  since  passed  away, 
In  our  hearts  is  love  undying 

For  the  boys  who  wore  the  gray. 
&•$, 

w 

The  dear  old  flag  is  tattered, 

But  we  love  it  just  as  well 
As  when,  blood  stained  and  faded, 

And  scarred  with  shot  and  shell 
It  floated  o'er  the  comrades 

Whom  we  miss  so  much  today, 
And  our  hearts  with  time  grow  fonder 

For  the  boys  who  wore  the  gray. 

Now  our  marching  days  are  over 

And  our  span  of  life  near  run ; 
And  the  North  and  South  together 

Have  been  woven  into  one ; 
But  our  hearts  still  warmly  cherish 

And  our  lips  in  prayer  must  say: 
"God  bless  the  dear  old  boys  who  wore 

Those  uniforms  of  gray." 

#^ 

II 

As  we  gather  round  our  campfire 

And  talk  of  things  of  yore — 
And  we  tell  anew  the  stories 

Of  those  brave  days  gone  before, 
With  their  many  tender  memories, 


The  sad  ones  and  the  gay — 
Our  smiles  and  tears  both  tribute  yield 
To  those  brave  boys  in  gray. 

9 

We  see  that  loved  old  banner 

In  the  van  of  battle  fly, 
And  can  hear  the  wounded  dying 

Raising  still  our  battle  cry. 
Tho'  those  cruel  days  are  over, 

Have  forever  passed  away, 
No  time  can  dim  the  luster 

Of  the  valiant  boys  in  gray. 

v^ 

II 

The  old  roll  call  is  dwindling 

And  our  ranks  are  growing  thin, 
Our  fondest  hopes  long  vanished 

Like  the  cause  we  sought  to  win ; 
Tho'  our  hearts  go  out  to  Dixie 

We've  but  one  land  today, 
And  the  Union  boasts  no  truer  sons 

Than  we  who  wore  the  gray. 


What's  Worth  While? 

We  know  not  where  we  came  from 

And  most  of  us  don't  care ; 
We  don't  know  where  we're  going, 

But  we  know  we'll  soon  be  there ; 
We  rarely  think  about  it, 

But  struggle  on  our  way ; 
Marooned  on  earth  a  little  while 

And  tomorrow  we're  away. 

#^v 

II 

We  drift  along  the  sea  of  life, 
Each  day  is  just  the  same; 
To  bed,  to  breakfast,  then  to  work, 

Then  home,  then  bed  again; 
But  if  we  pause  to  think  awhile, 
We  wonder  why  we're  here 
And  what  we  all  are  striving  for, 
Why  all  this  doubt  and  fear. 

II 
What  shall  we  strive  for?     Money? 

What  is  money  anyway? 
Your  day  is  surely  bound  to  come, 

Coin  can't  keep  death  away; 
Then  the  graveyard  rat  will  gnaw  you 

Just  as  calmly  and  serene, 
If  you  were  worth  your  millions 

Or  you  didn't  have  a  bean. 

II 

Then  shall  we  strive  for  power? 

What  good  will  power  do? 
Of  all  the  greatest  men  who  lived, 

History  tells  of  but  a  few; 
The  names  of  mighty  kings  and  queens 

Have  long  since  passed  away, 
And  their  bodies  long  have  moulded 

And  turned  to  common  clay. 


Let  us  ask  ourselves  this  question, 

What  shall  we  do  today? 
To  make  our  lives  worth  living 

As  we  pass  along  life's  way? 
What  can  we  do  that  others 

Will  hear  and  love  our  name? 
How  can  we  know  when  we  are  gone 

We  have  not  lived  in  vain? 

9      '\       '".:;'; 

The  men  who  live  in  history, 

Whose  names  we  all  revere, 
Strove  to  do  their  fellows  good 

The  time  they  lingered  here. 
Yes,  every  man  among  them, 

Whose  deeds  we  love  to  tell, 
Did  something  good  for  other  men 

And  did  that  duty  well. 

^^ 

II 

The  greatest  soul  who  ever  lived 

Called  every  man  his  brother 
And  taught  us  if  we  would  be  great 

We  must  "love  one  another." 
Just  help  some  weak  one  with  his  load, 

Encourage  some  poor  devil, 
Lead  an  honest,  manly  life, 

Treat  all  men  on  the  level. 

9 

You  may  not  get  the  money, 

Perhaps  you  won't  get  fame, 
But  you'll  get  something  better  far, 

An  honest,  cleanly  name ; 
And  I'd  rather  take  my  chances 

Before  the  White  Throne  there 
With  a  clean  and  honest  record 

Than  be  a  millionaire. 


The  Man  with  the  Rake 

He  raked  and  raked  and  raked  all  day 

To  find  something  mean  of  his  neighbor  to  say, 

And  his  back  grew  round  and  his  shoulders  bent, 

As  he  raked  away  to  his  heart's  content. 

And  he  saw  not  the  skies  or  the  beauties  around, 

For  his  eyes  were  always  fast  on  the  ground, 

And  he  worked  and  raked  with  downcast  eye, 

Fearing  some  scandal  would  pass  him  by. 

II 

And  he  talked  and  talked  to  whoever  would  stay 
About  what  he's  raked  in  his  measley  way, 
And  he  grew  to  be  known  both  far  and  near 
As  a  muckraker  bold  and  a  man  to  fear; 
He  raked  in  the  muck  and  the  mud  on  the  floor 
And  the  filth  and  dirt  was  all  that  he  saw, 
And  the  Sun  that  shines  or  the  birds  that  sing, 
No  pleasure  or  joy  to  him  could  bring. 

&"% 

|| 

If  he  heard  of  a  man  who  was  honest  and  true, 
He  would  rake  and  rake  his  whole  life  through, 
And  if  he  could  find  the  least  little  speck, 
He'd  scatter  it  broadcast  his  life  to  wreck; 
And  if  'twas  a  woman  whose  heart  he  could  break, 
He  would  dance  with  joy  and  rake,  rake,  rake, 
And  never  stop  till  his  work  was  done 
Until  with  muck  he  had  smeared  each  one. 


He  never  could  see  the  clean  and  the  pure, 
'Twas  the  same  to  him,  whether  rich  or  poor; 
No  man  or  woman  but  what  had  a  past 
Of  that  he  was  sure,  to  that  he  held  fast. 
All  had  a  motive  for  the  good  they  did, 
'Twas  all  for  a  show,  their  own  sins  they  hid; 
So  all  through  his  life  wherever  he'd  go 
He'd  rake  up  the  muck  for  the  high  and  the  low. 


The  greater  the  scandal,  the  louder  'twas  sung, 
Like  a  dainty  sweet  morsel  rolled  under  the  tongue ; 
No  matter  what  agony,  torture  or  pain, 
'Twas  joy  to  his  heart,  he  would  rake  it  again ; 
The  tears  of  the  mother,  the  father's  loud  wail, 
To  the  man  of  the  rake  would  have  no  avail, 
For  the  sunshine  reflected  from  God's  own  face 

Ne'er  shown  on  the  muck  in  that  loathesome  place. 

jfs. 

|f 

My  friend  of  the  muck-rake,  I  pray  you  beware, 
As  we  pass  through  this  life  let's  play  the  game  fair, 
Forget  all  the  past  with  its  sorrows  and  pain, 
Only  think  of  the  joys  and  the  pleasure  again; 
For  whenever  we  start  to  hammer  a  foe, 
We  never  can  tell  where  a  mean  word  will  go, 
And  of  all  vile  creatures  beneath  God's  blue  skies, 
The  muck-raking  devil  is  the  one  to  despise. 


All  Heroes  Now! 

(MEMORIAL  DAY.) 
Gather  the  buds  and  the  flowers  today 
To  place  on  the  graves  of  the  blue  and  the  gray — 
They  fought  and  they  died,  for  victory  they  vied 
These  brave  men  and  brothers  who  lay  side  by  side; 
Each  thought  he  was  right,  so  to  battle  they  fled, 
Now  they're  resting  together  in  this  home  of  the  dead. 

II 

So  gather  the  flowers  and  bring  them  today 
And  cover  the  graves  of  the  blue  and  the  gray ; 
Let  bright,  happy  children  their  love  tokens  bring 
While  the  air  resounds  with  the  anthems  they  sing, 
Our  Country  still  lives  and  our  flag  it  still  flies 
O'er  the  happiest  land  that  lies  under  the  skies. 

II 

Let  us  cover  them  over  with  flowers  so  fair, 

For  under  each  mound  a  hero  lies  there — 

'Tis  no  matter  beneath  what  flag  they  fell, 

No  matter  what  story  their  epitaphs  tell : 

We  know  they  were  heroes  who  fought  and  died, 

But  now  they  are  brothers  that  rest  side  by  side.     „, 

#^» 

$f 

Cover  them  over,  the  blue  and  the  gray, 

With  buds  and  flowers  that  blossom  in  May. 

Each  fought  for  country  and  not  for  fame,  „••'• 

Both  had  a  cause,  both  had  an  aim; 

Up,  up,  with  our  banner,  let  its  bright  colors  wave 

As  we  garland  with  flowers  each  hero's  loved  grave. 

If 

Yes,  cover  each  grave  in  this  hallowed  spot 
So  the  boys  who  rest  here  shall  not  be  forgot ! 
Let  our  tread  be  light  'round  this  sacred  dust 
Of  the  heroes  who  rest  in  the  home  of  the  just! 
There  is  no  North,  there  is  no  South  today 

As  we  lay  wreaths  of  flowers  on  this  sacred  clay. 
&•& 

If 

As  we  place  the  laurels  and  shed  the  tear. 
Let's  remember  the  brave  boys  who  are  still  with  us  here 
Their  footsteps  are  feeble,  they're  aged  and  gray. 
They  are  dropping  out  fast,  they  are  passing  away; 
Let  us  meet  them  with  flowers  and  smile  and  song 
To  make  their  lives  sweeter  as  they  pass  along. 

#^» 
If 

O,  God  bless  the  boys !     The  blue  and  the  gray — 
Bless  and  keep  those  we  have  with  us  today! 
Their  ranks  are  thin,  their  numbers  are  few; 
When  they  answer  the  call  may  they  go  straight  to  you ; 
And  over  their  graves  when  we  lay  them  away 
We'll  still  raise  the  flag  of  the  blue  and  the  gray. 


High  Finance 

If  you  should  steal  a  loaf  of  bread, 
Off  to  jail  you're  bound  to  go, 
But  if  you  should  steal  a  million, 
That's  high  finance  you  know; 
The  law  could  never  reach  you, 
For  the  people  would  say  "no! 
Prosecution  hurts  the  business — 
Let  the  High-up  rascals  go." 

li 

If  a  poor  deluded  devil 
Is  cajoled  to  take  a  bribe, 
He  is  called  a  thief,  a  robber, 
And  condemned  on  every  side; 
While  the  man  who  gives  the  money 
Is  a  good,  shrewd  financier — 
It  would  never  do  to  jail  him 
He's  respected  far  and  near. 


II 


You  must  not  hurt  the  business — 
We  must  let  the  high-ups  go; 
No  matter  how  they  skin  us, 
Keep  on  giving  them  a  show. 
Let  them  make  enormous  fortunes, 
By  corruption's  methods  queer — 
Prosecution  hurts  the  business, 
So  the  high-ups  need  not  fear. 

® ... 

But  if  some  poor  devil's  hungry, 
And  he  chanced  to  steal  a  dime, 
Why  there's  simply  nothing  to  it — 
But  to  jail  and  serve  his  time. 
That  doesn't  hurt  the  business, 
So  the  poor  brute's  got  no  show — 
But  the  one  who  steals  the  thousand 
Is  the  high-up,  don't  you  know. 

W 

*%& 

High  finance  is  a  scandal 
A  delusion  and  a  snare — 
A  high-toned  sort  of  skin  game, 
And  the  people, — they  don't  care; 
But  a  business  that  would  suffer 
Thro  a  cause  that's  right  and  just, 
Is  the  very  kind  of  business, 
On  my  word,  that  ought  to  bust. 


Keep  Plugging 

Keep  plugging  away,  dear  brother, 
It's  no  use  to  lay  down  and  cry ; 
Today  may  be  cloudy  and  rainy, 
Tomorrow  all  sunshine  and  dry. 
Oon't  have  any  time  for  repining, 
Just  roll  up  your  sleeves,  plug  away, 
Today  things  look  dark — I'll  admit  it— 
They'll  be  bright,  if  we  all  plug  away. 

II 

You  say  the  banks  are  not  loaning, 
That  everything's  gone  to  the  wall ; 
I  notice  the  one  who  talks  loudest 
Is  the  fellow  who  has  least  of  all. 
But  the  big,  brave  man  is  the  one,  sir, 
That  doesn't  have  much  to  say, 
He  does  a  whole  lot  of  thinking — 

And  he's  always  plugging  away. 
&•$, 
If 

This  country  is  right,  don't  forget  it — 
It's  the  best  the  world's  ever  seen, 
But  the  sun  can't  always  be  shining, 
And  life  is  not  always  a  dream. 
We've  lived  long  on  sugar  and  honey, 
Now  don't  let  us  holler  and  say 
The  country  has  gone  to  the  devil, 
But  smile  and  keep  plugging  away. 

ii 

4^ 
I  notice  the  autos  are  busy — 

They're  turning  out  new  ones  each  day; 
Cabarets  are  running  wide  open; 
The  theatres  turn  people  away. 
Then  what  is  this  kick  about  money — 
Why  not  be  happy  and  gay? 
1  pray  you  keep  up  your  courage, 
Just  smile  and  keep  plugging  away. 

It 

If  everyone  says  times  are  rotten. 
And  we  all  stand  around  and  roar, 
You  can't  expect  things  to  get  better 
But  'twill  tighten  them  up  all  the  more. 
Just  say  a  kind  word,  my  brother, 
Look  bright  as  a  clear  day  in  May ; 
We  all  will  have  plenty  of  money, 
If  we  smile  and  keep  plugging  away. 


Why 


I  want  to  ask  a  question — 

Will  someone  tell  me  why  _  . 

Men  may  sin  and  sin  again, 

Keep  sinning  till  they  die? 

And  no  one  seems  to  question, 

No  one  seems  to  care; 

But  still  we  call  them  gentlemen, 

Deny  this  none  will  dare. 

But  woman,  gentle  woman, 
Should  she  but  chance  to  stray, 
No  matter,  O  how  little, 
From  the  straight  and  narrow  way — 
For  her  there's  no  returning, 
Still  downward  she  must  go ; 
There's  none  to  save  or  pity, 
There's  naught  for  her  but  woe. 

Men  may  drink,  and  sport,  and  gamble, 
Raise  the  devil,  night  and  day, 
Till  they're  known  all  o'er  the  country 
By  the  wrecks  that  strew  their  way; 
Still  they're  welcomed  and  they're  courted— 
If  they've  money,  all  the  more — 
And  the  mothers  over  all  the  land 
Open  wide  to  them  their  door. 

Now  will  someone  kindly  tell  me 
Why  should  these  conditions  be? 
Must  the  women  always  suffer? 
Why  not  man  as  well  as  she? 
He's  your  son,  and  she's  your  daughter, 
Surely  he's  as  much  to  blame; 
What's  sin  for  man  is  sin  for  woman — 
They  should  suffer  just  the  same. 

Why,  O  why,  will  someone  tell  me, 

Should  the  women  stand  it  all? 

If  you  analyze  the  subject, 

You  can  bet  man  caused  the  fall. 

That's  the  thing  that  mystifies  me ;  j 

Won't  some  preacher  kindly  tell 

Why  the  men  are  all  forgiven 

And  the  women  go  to  hell  ? 


A  Good  Name 

It's  a  very  simple  matter, 

To  say  we  do  not  care 

What  other  people  think  of  us, 

If  we've  the  coin  to  spare. 

What  difference  does  it  make  to  us 

What  people  think  or  say, 

If  we  but  get  the  money, 

And  get  it  any  way? 


'Tis  better  never  to  succeed 
While  searching  after  pelf, 
Than  to  take  a  mean  advantage 
Of  those  weaker  than  yourself, 
A  good  name  is  to  be  chosen, 
So  we've  been  often  told, 
Than  it  is  to  get  great  riches, 
Of  silver  and  of  gold. 


There's  one  thing  I  will  tell  you, 
As  thru  this  world  you  go, 
"All  is  not  gold  that  glitters," 
There  is  more  in  life  than  show. 
Tho'  fools  may  count  their  riches, 
And  think  poverty  a  shame, 
The  best  of  wealth  you'll  surely  find, 
Is  your  conscience  and  good  name. 

n 

There's  a  mighty  good  old  maxim, 
And  you'll  find  that  it  is  true, 
You  must  always  do  to  others 
As  you'd  have  them  do  to  you. 
It  may  not  get  the  money, 
It  may  not  bring  you  fame 
But  you'll  have  something  better  far 
A  clean  and  honest  name. 

II 

If  you  want  to  make  life's  journey 
Really  worth  the  while, 
There  is  something  more  than  money, 
And  something  more  than  style. 
This  thought  I  now  leave  with  you, 
Be  honest,  true  and  brave, 
And  hold  fast  to  your  good  name 
From  your  cradle  to  your  grave. 


Our  Country-Right  or  Wrong 

The  President  has  said  the  word, 
And  our  country's  gone  to  war; 
What  if  we  didn't  want  to  fight, 
And  we  prayed  for  peace  before? 
When  Mr.  Wilson  said  the  word 
We're  with  him  good  and  strong, 
This  is  our  own  United  States, 

We're  with  it  right  or  wrong. 

&y, 

%f 

General  Grant  went  into  battle, 
And  he  did  his  duty  well. 
General  Sherman  didn't  like  to  fight, 
And  said  that  war  was  hell. 
Their  names  now  live  in  story 
And  their  praises  ring  in  song, 
For  they  were  for  their  country, 
Their  country,  right  or  wrong. 


There  never  was  a  time  on  earth, 
When  this  country  went  to  war, 
But  a  lot  of  would-be  statesmen 
Would  stand  around  and  roar; 
They  could  tell  you  all  about  it, 
And  if  'twas  wrong  or  right, 
But  their  time  for  disappearing 
Was  when  'twas  time  to  fight. 


This  is  no  time  to  stand  around 

And  argue  pro  or  con, 

Our  President  has  spoken 

And  now  the  fight  is  on. 

Don't  ask  the  why  or  wherefore, 

Join  with  the  mighty  throng, 

We're  behind  you,  Woodrow  Wilson, 

And  our  country,  right  or  wrong. 

God  always  sends  us  big  men, 
When  there's  great  big  things  to  do; 
Here's  to  you,  Woodrow  Wilson, 
For  he  surely  sent  us  you. 
And  every  true  American 
Is  for  you  good  and  strong. 
We  are  with  you,  Mr.  President, 
And  our  country,  right  or  wrong. 


A  Kind  Word 

Just  try  this,  my  friend, 
As  you  journey  through  life: 
Sould  you  meet  a  weak  brother, 
Worn  out  with  the  strife, 
Put  your  hand  on  his  shoulder 
And  a  kindly  word  say; 
You  will  find,  I  am  sure, 
It  is  not  thrown  away. 

%^^7/ 

IF 

A  kind  friendly  word, 
In  some  trying  hour, 
Will  oft  soothe  and  heal 
With  its  soft,  subtle  power; 
Kind  words  are  like  sunshine 
On  a  dark,  cloudy  day, 
So  scatter  them  freely 
As  you  pass  on  your  way. 

II 

As  you  climb  up  life's  hill, 
Though  the  clouds  may  hang  low, 
Many  others  are  tramping 
The  same  road,  you  know. 
If  you  speak  kindly  words 
As  you  plod  on  each  day, 
The  sun  will  shine  through 
And  the  clouds  roll  away. 


So  try  it,  my  friend, 
You  will  find  it  is  true — 
The  words  that  help  others 
Will  surely  help  you; 
For  a  kind  word  once  spoken 
Is  not  uttered  in  vain, 
Like  the  bread  on  the  waters, 
It  will  come  back  again. 


Are  You  Game? 

Are  you  standing  up,  dear  brother? 

Are  you  game  to  fight  it  out, 
When  the  odds  are  all  against  you, 

And  you're  all  in,  down  and  out; 
When  your  liver's  out  of  order, 

And  the  clouds  around  you  lower, 
Are  you  standing  by  your  colors, 

Or  are  you  crawling  on  the  floor? 

It's  easy  to  go  singing 

And  be  smiling  all  the  day, 
When  the  sky  is  bright  and  lovely, 

And  things  all  come  your  way. 
But  when  everything  is  gloomy, 

When  times  are  dull  and  bad, 
The  fellow  that's  the  winner 

Is  the  one  who  then  looks  glad. 

jfti 
U 

The  fellow  that's  the  winner 

Hasn't  always  got  the  dough ; 
But  you'll  find  him  always  plugging — 

He's  sure  to  make  things  go. 
And  if  the  sun  be  shining, 

If  it's  cold  or  boiling  hot — 
You'll  always  find  the  winner 

Will  be  Johnny  on  the  spot. 

II 

Getting  washboards  on  your  forehead 

Ain't  a  going  to  buy  you  bread, 
Only  makes  you  old  and  wrinkled, 

Puts  the  white  hairs  on  your  head: 
It's  the  fellow  who  keeps  digging — 

He's  the  one  that's  worth  the  while. 
Got  the  one  that's  always  wishing 

Dead — and  skinned  about  a  mile! 


Somebody's  Worse 
Off  Than  You! 

When  you  look  around  with  envy 
On  men  who've  more  than  you, 
Do  you  ever  stop  and  ponder 
There's  lots  their  wealth  won't  do? 
Will  it  buy  a  place  in  heaven? 
Can  it  buy  love  pure  and  true? 
Could  it  buy  that  little  baby, 

Who  is  waiting  home  for  you? 

^^    ' 

V 

When  your  heart  is  sad  and  heavy, 
And  you're  feeling  bad  and  blue, 
Do  you  ever  stop  and  think  awhile, 
There's  lots  worse  off  than  you? 
Don't  you  know  there's  more  behind  you? 
You're  not  the  last  one  in  the  race? 
There's  many  a  fellow  that  you  know 

Would  gladly  take  your  place? 

jni 
II 

We  spend  so  much  time  wishing 
For  the  things  we  haven't  got, 
That  we  can't  enjoy  the  blessings 
We  have,  and  know  them  not. 
So  don't  look  on  with  envy, 
'Twill  make  you  sour  and  old; 
You've  very  many  blessings 
That  can't  be  bought  with  gold. 

V*b 

H 

Do  not  think  that  all  are  happy — 
Just  because  they  have  the  wealth ! 
Why!  All  the  money  in  the  world 
Can't  buy  one  hour  of  health! 
So  if  you're  well,  be  happy; 
Thank  God  both  day  and  night 
For  giving  you  what  wealth  can't  buy — 
A  GOOD  BIG  APPETITE. 


Stop  It! 


What's  the  use  of  criticism, 
Why  not  praise  instead  of  blame? 
If  it  does  no  good  to  censure, 
Why  not  try  the  other  game  ? 
Now  instead  of  always  kicking 
Some  unhappy  failing  man, 
Don't  you  think  it  would  be  better 
Just  to  try  the  other  plan  ? 

When  you  see  some  fellow  striving, 
Although  he  may  be  poor  or  slow, 
What's  the  use  to  criticise  him, 
Why  not  give  the  man  a  show? 
Just  suspend  your  criticism, 
Give  him  praise  and  friendly  word; 
We  give  plenty  blame  and  censure, 
But  kind  words  are  seldom  heard. 

W*b 

$f 

Let  us  try  and  change  the  system. 
See  how  much  more  we  will  win 
With  a  pleasant,  cheery  greeting, 
Fill  some  faltering  heart  with  vim ; 
Give  applause  instead  of  censure — 
Always  praise  and  spare  your  blame ; 
Help  some  struggling  man  or  woman 
Win  their  spurs  and  gain  a  name. 


Why  not  help  some  earnest  worker 
Who  is  trying  to  succeed? 
You  can  do  it,  oh,  so  easy — 
Just  a  chance  is  all  they  need. 
Scatter  friendly  praise  freely, 
You  can't  tell  where  they  may  fall ; 
Let  us  stop  our  criticising, 
Speak  kind  words,  or  none  at  all. 


As  We  Think 

Turn  away  from  dark  forebodings, 

Turn  away  from  doubt  and  fear — 

Quit  the  thoughts  that  tug  you  downward, 

Face  the  light  of  hope  and  cheer ; 

You  are  poor  if  you  lose  courage, 

You  will  prosper  if  you  try, 

Clear  your  mind  of  gloomy  visions — 

You're  not  a  dead  one  till  you  die. 

Poverty  itself  is  not  so  awful — 
'Tis  your  mind  that  makes  it  so ; 
Say  today  you're  done  forever 
With  your  doubting  and  your  woe, 
Change  your  dress,  your  talk,  your  manner 
Show  the  world  that  you  can  be 
Just  as  happy  as  your  neighbor, 
Though  you're  not  so  rich  as  he. 

II 

Cut  out  the  thoughts  of  poverty 
Turn  from  the  ghost  of  doubt, 
Cast  down  the  walls  of  all  your  gloom 
And  smile  and  face  about! 
Leave  the  shadows  all  behind  you, 
In  your  mind  hold  pictures  bright, 
You  will  find  you're  not  a  failure — 
Everything  will  come  out  right. 

II 

When  you  feel  yourself  a-slipping, 
All  things  looking  bad  and  blue — 
That's  the  time  to  test  your  courage, 
Looking  for  some  good  to  do — 
Help  some  brother  with  his  troubles 
Always  talk  and  think  GOOD,  too, 
While  you  hold  fast  to  the  GOOD  thought 
GOOD  will  always  come  to  you. 


Mothers'  Day 

(Second  Sunday  in  May.) 
And  now  we  have  a  Mothers'  Day, 
On  which  a  white  carnation 
All  wear  in  tender  reverence 
For  the  mothers  of  our  Nation. 
For  God  ne'er  gave  a  better  friend, 
Just  like  her  there's  no  other; 
This  truly  is  the  day  of  days — 
The  day  of  home  and  mother. 

God  bless  my  dear  old  mother, 

And  spare  her  long  to  me ; 

There  ne'er  could  be  a  squarer  pal 

Than  she  has  been,  you  see. 

No  matter  though  the  world  might  say 

That  I  was  weak  or  bad, 

Her  love  and  smile  were  always  there 

To  soothe  and  cheer  her  lad. 

As  time  goes  on  I  see  her  locks 

Turn  slow  to  evening's  gray; 

The  wrinkles  on  her  dear  old  face 

Sink  deeper  every  day. 

And  as  her  steps  grow  feeble, 

I  feel  with  sinking  heart, 

How  drear  the  world  will  seem  to  me 

When  I  and  mother  part. 

it 

So  let  us  all  make  Mothers'  Day 
The  one  day  of  the  year; 
White  Blossoms  for  those  passed  away- 
White  blossoms  for  those  here. 
And  though  a  white  carnation 
We'll  wear — for  all  to  see, 
I  know  each  day  is  Mothers'  Day 
For  you,  dear  friends,  and  me. 


Say  Nice  Things 


Did  it  ever  strike  you,  brother, 
To  say  nice  things  now  and  then 
Would  make  you  always  welcome 
Among  your  fellow  men? 
No  matter  where  you  chance  to  be, 
You'll  find  this  rule  holds  true, 
If  you  say  nice  things  of  others 
They  will  say  nice  things  of  you. 

II 

You  will  find  it  just  as  easy 

To  say  nice  things  every  day, 

As  to  repeat  the  mean  ones 

You  hear  upon  your  way. 

There's  a  heap  more  satisfaction 

To  make  a  smile  appear 

Than  to  see  a  frown  grow  on  a  face, 

Or,  worse  than  that,  a  tear. 

It's  an  unexpensive  habit, 

And  a  good  investment,  too, 

To  speak  well  of  your  neighbor, 

It  will  mean  a  lot  to  you. 

Don't  say  the  word  behind  his  back, 

But  praise  him  to  his  face ; 

Twill  make  you  both  far  happier, 

This  world  a  nicer  place. 

9 

So  if  you  have  a  pleasant  thought, 

Don't  fear  to  hear  your  voice ; 

Say  the  nice  things  all  the  time, 

Twill  make  the  heart  rejoice. 

If  you  want  to  drive  old  grouch  away, 

I  pray  you  try  this  plan ; 

You'll  make  the  rough  spots  smoother 

And  yourself  a  better  man. 


A  Letter  to  Mother 

Sometimes  I  grow  weary,  dear  Mother, 
And  also  feel  lonesome  and  blue, 
But  now  I  know  there'll  be  solace ; 
I'm  sending  these  few  lines  to  you. 
For  in  this  wide  world  there's  none  other 
Who  loves  me  for  just  what  I  am — 
Rejoices  or  mourns  with  me  always, 
Without  any  pretense  or  sham. 

II 

I'm  longing  tonight  to  be  with  you 
Again  in  the  dear  old  home  place, 
To  sit  once  more  by  the  fireside 
And  watch  the  bright  smile  on  your  face. 
I  know  you'd  be  happy  to  greet  me, 
Though  I've  won  no  fortune  or  fame, 
A  mother's  hug  and  a  mother's  kiss 
Would  welcome  me  always  the  same. 

II 

I've  so  much  to  tell  you,  dear  Mother, 
'Twould  take  me  most  all  night  to  write 
The  reason  I'm  wishing,  yes,  longing, 
That  I  could  be  with  you  tonight 
To  tell  you  my  hopes  and  desires, 
No  matter  their  value  or  worth, 
The  fight  would  seem  well  worth  the  winning 
If  shared  with  the  best  friend  on  earth. 

#$ 

$f 

There  are  so-called  "friends,"  dear  Mother, 
That  would  share  my  pleasures,  I  know, 
But  there's  one  real  friend  I'm  certain, 
Who  is  willing  to  share  in  my  woe. 
So  that's  why  I'm  writing  to  Mother, 
In  sorrow  or  joy  my  best  friend, 
"May  God  bless  the  very  best  Mother!" 
Is  my  fervent  prayer,  to  the  end. 


Who's  Who? 


Don't  tell  your  hard  luck  stories, 
For  no  one  cares  to  know 
Why  you  have  made  a  failure, 
Why  you  haven't  made  things  go. 
The  man  they  honey  up  to 
Is  the  man  who  knows  no  fail, 
The  fellow  who  was  never  known 
To  tell  a  hard  luck  tale. 


Don't  try  to  find  excuses 
When  things  don't  come  your  way; 
Keep  on  doing  the  best  you  can. 
And  don't  have  much  to  say. 
Nothing  counts  for  or  against  us 
Except  what  we  ourselves  do. 
The  fellow  who  never  writes  failure, 
Is  the  only  one  who's  who. 

en 
¥? 

The  fellow  who  wins  the  battle 

Must  feel  he  is  going  to  win ; 

The  man  who  always  expects  defeat 

Is  beaten  before  he  starts  in. 

No  matter  how  often  you've  fallen, 

How  often  your  efforts  fell  through, 

If  you  win  at  the  end  of  the  battle. 

You'll  find  you're  the  one  who's  who. 

II 

Don't  be  ashamed  to  keep  trying, 
Don't  get  discouraged  and  stop; 
The  fellow  who  keeps  on  plugging 
Is  the  one  who  comes  nearest  the  top. 
Just  clinch  your  teeth  tight,  brother, 
Be  loyal,  and  honest,  and  true, 
The  world  will  soon  take  notice 
That  you  are  the  one  who's  who. 


Scandal 


You  may  build  a  reputation, 
As  sedulously  as  you  please, 
Just  one  little  word  of  Scandal, 
Will  tear  it  down  with  ease. 
Tho  wrong  you  have  avoided 
Always  striven  for  the  right, 
Just  one  lying  word  of  Scandal 
Wrecks  a  life  work  over  night. 

II 

There's  a  curious  fact  I  mention 
You  will  find  it  very  true 
If  you  are  quite  successful 
The  crowd  will  all  hate  you. 
To  be  sure,  they  never  met  you, 
Know  you  only  by  your  fame, 
Yet  the  Scandalmonger's  waiting, 
They  will  get  you  just  the  same. 

ft 

There's  the  enemy  in  waiting 

In  his  hand  the  unclean  knife 

To  stab  a  reputation 

Smite  some  character  for  life. 

Around  an  honest  reputation 

No  armor  can  be  built 

That  the  unclean  knife  of  Scandal 

Can't  be  plunged  up  to  the  hilt. 

•i^ 
If 

There's  a  streak  in  human  nature 
We  don't  know  why  it's  there. 
We  crave  to  drag  some  fellow  down 
The  game  we  can't  play  fair. 
Just  start  a  word  of  Scandal, 
We'll  all  crowd  round  to  hear, 
But  say  a  kindly  cheerful  word, 
There'd  be  no  one  standing  near. 


Forget   Yourself 


Do  you  wonder  what's  the  matter 

Why  you  do  not  get  along? 
While  things  look  good  to  others 

Everything  to  you  looks  wrong — 
Do  you  feel  you're  badly  treated 

That  you  do  not  get  your  due? 
Did  you  ever  seek  the  reason? 

Well,  the  reason  may  be  you. 

II 

Do  you  ever  think,  dear  brother, 

You  may  worry  too  much  of  yourself 
That  you  envy  too  much  the  fellow 

Who  picks  up  the  easiest  pelf? 
You're  a  prey  of  your  own  suspicions. 

Misgivings  and  doubts  and  fear 
About  things  that  never  will  happen 

And  troubles  that  never  appear. 

#^ 
II 

Remember  you've  one  little  lifetime 

Don't  spoil  it  with  worry  and  strife, 
Just  think  of  the  other  fellows, 

Help  them  smooth  the  pathway  of  life, 
Rejoice  with  them  in  their  rejoicings 

Weep  with  them  in  their  woe 
Forget  yourself  and  your  troubles, 

You  will  find  your  worries  will  go. 

V*b 

II 

Thousands  have  gone  before  you 

Who  have  carried  their  burdens,  too, 
No  burdens  too  great  for  any  man's  soul 

If  he  refuses  to  admit  it  is  true. 
Just  purge  your  soul  of  all  envy 

Enjoy  your  short  lifetime  while  here. 
Forget  self  and  think  more  of  others; 

Fear  and  worry  will  then  disappear. 


Howdy  Pap! 

(Dedicated  to  the  Loyal  Order  of  Moose.) 
When  the  clouds  are  dark  and  heavy 
And  you're  feeling  sad  and  blue, 
When  you  feel  yourself  a-slipping 
And  things  look  bad  to  you — 
When  you  seem  to  be  forgotten 
And  no  one  cares  a  rap — 
It's  a  mighty  pleasant  thing  to  hear 
'7/oiwfo.  Pap/" 

II 

As  you  journey  on  life's  rocky  path, 
You  will  find  that  it  is  true 
When  you  are  well  and  happy 
Everything  just  comes  to  you; 
But  when  the  dark  clouds  gather, 
And  you  have  no  heart  or  snap, 
These  words  make  life  seem  brighter: 

"Howdy,  Pap!" 

|| 

This  world  is  full  of  changes 
No  matter  where  we  go — 
It  is  not  always  sunshine, 
There  is  plenty  grief  and  woe; 
When  the  sun  is  shining  brightly, 
And  we  hear  good  fortune  tap, 
Don't  forget  the  other  fellow  with — 

"Hovdy.  Pap/" 

Just  a  kind  and  cheerful  greeting, 
As  we  pass  along  the  way, 
May  chase  away  the  heavy  clouds — 
Make  a  bright  and  happy  day ; 
Just  your  hand  upon  the  shoulder, 
With  a  kind  and  friendly  tap, 
Greet  brothers  with  those  kindly  words : 
'7/oiwfy.  Pap/" 


Hello  Bill! 


(Dedicated  to  the  B.  P.  O.  E.) 
No  matter  where  we  travel, 

Or  where  we  chance  to  go, 
If  we're  rich  as  Croesus, 

Or  down  and  out,  you  know, 
It  always  gives  one  courage 

And  your  heart  a  pleasant  thrill 
When  you  hear  some  jolly  fellow  say : 
"Hello  Bilir 

II 

There's  a  mystic  charm  about  it 
That  you  cannot  understand, 
When  you  get  a  hearty  greeting 

And  a  warm  grasp  of  the  hand; 
But  if  you  are  a  stranger 

And  you're  homesick,  tired,  and  ill, 
The  sweetest  words  you  ever  heard  are — 
"Hello  Bill!" 

|| 
There's  a  maxim  I  will  tell  you, 

And  you  know  that  it  is  true — 
You  must  always  do  to  others 

As  you'd  have  them  do  to  you. 
There's  not  many  of  us  do  it, 

But  there's  some  of  us  that  will, 
One  of  them's  the  fellow  that  says — 
"Hello  Bill!" 

II 
I  was  a  stranger  in  the  city, 

I  was  poor,  and  sick,  and  thin, 
Then  I  heard  the  Bible  story 
"He  was  ill,  ye  took  him  in." 
And  ye  nursed  me,  and  ye  fed  me, 

And  ye  did  it  with  a  will: 
God  bless  the  dear  old  boy  that  says — 
"Hello  Bill!" 


Friendship,  Love  and  Truth 

(Dedicated  to  the  I.  O.  O.  F.) 
There  are  three  links  that  bind  us, 
They  bind  like  hoops  of  steel; 
To  those  who  know  their  meaning, 
We  know  these  links  are  real 
They  teach  us  to  remember 
Old  age  as  well  as  youth. 
The  golden  links  that  bind  us  are — 
Friendship,  Love  and  Truth. 

t{£^?4 

II 
If  on  this  life's  rough  journey, 

Where'er  we  chance  to  stray, 
If  we  meet  some  shipwrecked  brother 

Stranded  on  his  weary  way — 
We  must  never  pass  around  him, 
Give  him  succor  not  reproof; 
Always  loyal  to  your  motto  of — 
Friendship,  Love  and  Truth. 

Do  not  ask  the  why  and  wherefore, 
Do  not  care  how  he  came  there ; 

All  you  know  is  he  is  needy 

And  he  wants  a  brother's  care. 

Be  ye  faithful  to  your  promise, 
Let  your  actions  be  the  proof 

That  the  golden  links  that  bind  us  are — 
Friendship,  Love  and  Truth. 

V*b 

II 

When  you  cross  the  silent  river 
And  your  work  on  earth  is  o'er, 

When  you  pass  away  forever 

And  you  reach  the  Golden  Shore, 

Your  record  here  will  go  before  you, 
You'll  meet  no  censure  or  reproof; 

Only  loving  hearts  to  greet  you  in — 
Friendship,  Love  and  Truth. 


"Hold  on  to  the  Rope" 

(Dedicated  to  the  Mystic  Shrine.) 
"Hold  on  to  the  rope"  my  Boy, 
No  matter  what  they  say — 
If  you  only  hold  on  long  enough 
Everything  will  come  your  way; 
Just  smile  whate'er  befalls  you 
And  never  give  up  hope, 
Kind  a  keep  your  wits  together 
And  "Hold  on  to  the  rope." 

"Hold  on  to  the  rope,"  my  boy 
And  let  fate  do  its  worst — 
What  if  the  dark  clouds  lower 
And  the  cannon  thunder  burst ; 
You  know  the  sun  is  bound  to  shine — - 
And  the  only  proper  dope — 
Is  to  grit  your  teeth  together 
And  "Hold  on  to  the  rope." 

11 

"Hold  on  to  the  rope,"  my  boy, 
And  never  once  despair, 
Don't  let  the  burden  sink  you, 
Just  smile  away  dull  care; 
Keep  up  with  the  procession 
Never  loiter,  do  not  mope; 
Be  game  unto  the  very  last 
And  "Hold  on  to  the  rope." 

When  you  feel  yourself  a-slipping 
And  your  troubles  madly  press, 
Don't  stand  where  all  can  see  you 
And  wave  signals  of  distress; 
Remember  there  are  others 
Whose  hands  were  full  of  soap 
So  when  the  road  gets  slippery 
Why  "Hold  on  to  the  rope." 


Flag  Day 

Flag  of  America!     Flag  of  the  free! 
On  this  thine  own  day  we  pay  homage  to  thee. 
With  your  colors  of  red  and  of  white  and  of  blue 
Our  hearts  bound  with  joy  when  our  flag  floats  in 
view. 


Thou  emblem  of  liberty,  inspiring,  sublime, 
Round  each  of  our  heartstrings  thy  glories  entwine. 
O  long  may  the  flag  of  this  great  Nation  wave 
O'er  this  country  so  grand  and  its  people  so  brave. 

II    ,    • 

Over  our  native  land  joyous  and  free, 

Where  all  breathe  the  air  of  sweet  liberty, 

Wave  the  old  flag  on  mountain  and  hill 

With  song  and  sweet  music  our  loved  country  fill. 

II 

This  is  the  day  when  all  freemen  shall  stand 
For  one  flag,  one  country,  and  one  happy  land. 
And  over  our  heads  old  Glory  shall  fly 
Bright  and  unsullied  as  the  stars  in  the  sky. 

&y> 

If 

So  unfurl  the  old  banner,  the  flag  we  love  well, 
Sing  tidings  of  gladness,  let  loyal  hearts  swell; 
Let  songs  and  thanksgivings  to  Heaven  arise; 
God  bless  the  best  flag  that  floats  under  the  skies. 


Don't  Butt  In! 


If  you  have  a  sporty  neighbor. 

Who  is  always  raising  Ned, 
Comes  home  early  mornings. 

Making  noise  to  wake  the  dead, 
Whose  skin  is  always  loaded 

With  lager  beer  and  wine. 
You  needn't  talk  about  it. 

It  ain't  costing  you  a  dime. 

"•  '••''.  »     :  '.f '." 

If  you  know  a  little  fairy. 

That's  as  nice  as  she  can  be. 
Who  likes  to  have  a  jolly  time. 

And  a  quiet  drink  of  tea. 
Who  delights  to  ride  in  autos. 

Always  ready  for  a  spin. 
You  needn't  talk  about  it. 

You've  no  license  to  butt  in. 

,    ,.-.,    :^,,,,,;  ,.  , 

I  am  trying  to  convince  you. 

This  is  what  I  would  convey — 
No  matter  what  you  see  or  hear, 

As  you  pass  along  life's  way, 
'Twill  do  no  good  to  gossip. 

You  may  as  well  keep  still. 
So  you  needn't  talk  about  it. 

For  there's  plenty  others  will. 

m 
II 

Remember  when  you're  talking 

About  naughty  things  you've  seen, 
That  the  ones  who  do  the  talking 

Should  themselves  be  very  clean ; 
So  before  you  start  the  story. 

Look  with  care  it's  not  a  knock, 
Folks  who  live  in  homes  of  glass 

Should  never  throw  a  rock. 


There's  not  many  saints  among  us, 

There's  few  who  never  sin ; 
If  we  dig  a  hole  for  others, 

We  ourselves  might  tumble  in. 
You  know  there  may  be  someone 

With  a  most  inquiring  mind, 
Who  might  start  investigating, 

There's  no  telling  what  he'd  find. 

9 

So  once  more  I'd  like  to  mention, 

In  my  most  engaging  style, 
Whate'er  you  see  that's  naughty. 

Just  pass  it  with  a  smile; 
If  you  forget  you  saw  it, 

'Twill  save  much  pain  and  woe. 
You  needn't  talk  about  it. 

Just  let  the  darn  thing  go. 


When  I  Go  Away 


I  am  going  away  to  leave  you 
When  I'm  gone  I'd  like  to  know 
There  is  some  one  left  to  love  me 
Just  some  one  to  miss  me  so; 
Some  one  to  remember  only 
A  kind  word  or  friendly  deed 
Just  to  say  in  tones  of  sadness — 
He  really  was  a  friend  indeed. 

II 

I  would  crave  some  recollection 
That  sometime  may  be  retold 
How  he  smoothed  out  some  rough  pathway 
Helped  some  foot  step  slow  and  old 
Did  some  little  act  of  kindness 
In  a  thoughtful,  loving  way, 
And  some  eyes  may  softly  moisten 
When  they  hear  I've  gone  away. 

II 

If  some  little  child  will  miss  me 

On  the  day  I  go  away 

And  wonder  if  I'm  coming  back 

Or  if  I've  gone  to  stay; 

And  when  they  tell  I'll  not  return 

'Twould  please  me  much  to  know 

The  little  one  would  gently  say 

I  just  hate  to  have  him  go. 

II 

I  can't  leave  fame  or  fortune 
When  the  time  will  come  to  part 
But  I  hope  to  leave  a  memory 
In  a  true  and  grateful  heart. 
I  trust  a  few  will  shed  a  tear 
Some  heart  will  warmer  glow 
Thank  God  they  knew  and  loved  me 
When  my  time  shall  come  to  go. 


A  Few  Words  of  Appreciation 


Fred  A.  Campbell,  "Poet  of  the  Common  People,"  of  Oak 
land,  California,  will  contribute  a  poem  each  month  for 
ABILITY,  the  first  one,  "Why?"  appearing  in  this  number. 
Mr.  Campbell's  poems  are  all  of  the  uplift  character  and  are 
full  of  pathos  and  tenderness.  Many  of  his  poems  have  been 
extensively  published  throughout  the  country  and  have  been 
most  generously  praised  by  the  press  and  public. 

ABILITY, 
Chicago,   111 

"POET  OF   THE   COMMON    PEOPLE." 

Fred  A.  Campbell  of  Oakland,  California,  is  the  author  of 
many  beautiful  poems.  In  the  April  number  of  ABILITY 
his  poem,  "Why  ?"  was  published  which  brought  forth  the 
highest  sort  of  praise  from  many  readers.  On  the  opposite 
page  the  second  poem  to  this  magazine  appears.  Four  more 
of  his  poems  are  to  appear  in  these  pages  this  year.  Mr. 
Campbell  is  called  the  "Poet  of  the  Common  People"  and 
each  of  his  productions  are  of  the  uplift  character  which 
never  fail  to  touch  a  tender  spot  in  the  heart  of  every  lover 
of  humanity. — ABILITY,  Greenville,  Ohio. 

"Gran  Hotel," 

Amerique  Rittscher  &  C:a., 

Guatemala. 
Mr.    Fred    A.    Campbell. 

Dear  Sir:  While  traveling  through  Central  America  I  was 
very  much  surprised  to  run  across  seme  of  your  poems  in 
Guatemala  City  and  found  they  were  very  much  sought  after 
by  the  English  speaking  people.  It  soemed  like  a  handshake 
from  home.  Wishing  you  every  success  and  hoping  others 
will  appreciate  the  advantage  Oakland  is  obtain'ng  through 
your  work,  I  remain  Very  respectfully, 

A.   S.    KERBY. 


271   Evering  Road, 

Upper  Clapton, 

London   W. 
Mr.  Fred  A.  Campbell : 

It  is  with  great  pleasure  I  write  you  these  few  lines  to  teli 
you  with  what  great  pleasure  and  interest  I  have  read  your 
beautiful  poems.  They  are  well  known  in  many  English 
homes  now.  I  have  given  keen  enjoyment  to  numbers  of 
people,  and  for  myself  I  beg  to  thank  you.  I  beg  to  offer  my 
hearty  congratulations.  Your  sincere  admi-er. 

AMEY    E.    MAY. 


HAYWARD  JOURNAL: 

Oakland  cannot  honor  Fred  A.  Campbell  too  much.  Let 
them  do  it  while  he  is  living  and  can  enjoy  it.  DO  IT  NOW. 

Matagalpa,   Nicaragua. 
Mr.   Fred   A.   Campbell, 

Oakland,  Cal. 

My  Dear  Mr.  Campbell:  On  my  arrival  at  this  place  I  war, 
surprised  and  pleased  to  find  many  of  your  poems  in  circu 
lation  here.  I  have  heard  many  very  complimentary  remarks 
about  them.  You  are  doing  good  work  in  advertising  Oak 
land,  California,  and  I  really  think  Oakland  has  never  heard 
of  this  place  before.  Wishing  you  lots  of  success  and  pros 
perity,  I  am  Yours  very  trulv, 

THOS.   W.   THOMPSON. 


"Pap's    Reminder." 

Official   Paper, 

Visalia  Lodge  546,  L.  O.  O.  M. 

There  are  published  in  this  issue  some  verses  by  the  kind 
ness  of  Fred  A.  Campbell.  Read  them  more  than  once  and 
then  clip  them  out  and  put  them  where  you  can  reach  them 
often.  They  will  make  you  a  better  Moose. 

Enclosed    find    stamps    for    poems. 

VICTORIA  MARCINAK, 

Salt   Lake   City,   Utah. 


Poems   received.      They   are   all   fine. 

JULES  EMDEN, 

386   Le   Boulevard, 
Montemarte,   Paris,   France. 

Have  a  package  of  your  poems  and  have  distributed  many 
among  my  friends  here  who  can  read  English.  They  all  speak 
very  highly  of  them. 

LOUIS   GUGHELMOIN, 

Paris,  France. 

Brought  along  a  lot  of  your  poems.  They  please  every  one 
who  receives  them. 

F.   M.   WILSON, 
Correos,    Guatemala. 


Send   me   fifty   copies    of   your   beautiful   poems. 

J.  A.   MORRISON, 
Medford,   Ontario. 


Please   send   us   200   Campbell   poems. 

ACKER'S    BOOK    STORE. 

By   J.  S.  Acker, 
Prescott,   Arizona. 

I  bought  some  of  your  poems  here.      Think  they  are  lovely. 

MRS.  W.  McINTYRE, 

5061   Lake  Ave., 

Chicago,  111. 

Your  poem  was  read  in  our  lodge  room.        The  brothers  are 
deHshted  with  it.  R    ^  ^^ 

Sect'y   Logan  Lodge, 
Logan,  Utah. 

Your  alleged   poem,   "Don't   Butt   In,"   is   posted   up   in   hotel 
here  in  Guaymas,   Mexico.      No  wonder  there  is  a  revolution. 

With   kindest. 

D.   KENSELL. 
Guaymas,   Mexico. 


Please    send    me    76    copies    of    your    poems    assorted    as    per 
order   enclosed.  MISS   ETHEL   MEYERS. 

120   Hallack  St., 
Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 

Just    received    your    beautiful    poems.      Enclosed    find    P.    O. 
order  for  more.  MRS.  L.  C    KLINK, 

1908   E.  Main  St., 

Lafayette,   Ind. 


Please  advise  me  as   to  the   cost  of  your  poems. 

F.  E.  SHAFFER. 
3457-63   Blake  St.. 

Denver,   Colo. 


I  like  your  poems  very   much   and  would  ]*k/  ^"J^e  them 
11  W.    A.    CrlAMrJiliKLiAlJN . 

Boulder,   Colo. 


Please  quote  us   price  on  gross   lots.  ^    MARTIN   CQ 

Wahoo,   Nebraska. 

Fred    A.    Campbell    writes    good    poetry.      There    is    a   human 

OAKLAND   REVIEW. 

Copyright,    bv    Fred    A.    Campbell.      Published    by     thr 
Campbell  Publishing  Co..  546  30th  St..  Oakland,  Cal. 


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